


Who's In Charge

by ShrimpZilla



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShrimpZilla/pseuds/ShrimpZilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen and the Inquisitor find themselves in a dom-sub relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's In Charge

**Author's Note:**

> written for the dragon age kink meme

It pretty much happens the same way every time… Until it doesn’t.  
  
Usually she starts it. She pushes him over the edge. One minute they’re just making love and then the next minute he’s got her flipped on her stomach while he’s pulling her hair hard enough to yank her head back. Or they’re making love and then he’s pinning her arms to the headboard and growling at her to scream. Or they’re making love and then he’s choking her while leaving red handprints all over her ass. It happens in a variety of ways. She’ll bite his lip hard enough to draw blood, pull his hair until his eyes water, once when he was particularly hesitant she spit in his face. So he knows she knows what she’s doing when she corners him into this place where he’s no longer making love to her. He’s fucking her. Cullen never thought there was much distinction—one just being a foul word for the other—but here they are. There’s a distinction. And he likes it.  
  
That’s the realization that troubles him though. No matter how often he whispers apologies once it’s ended and they’re cuddling. No matter how many times she laughs while rubbing her wrists and tells him it’s fine. No matter the way that her breath catches and her body shakes and her orgasms build and break over and over again when he does it. It makes him worried. For her to want to submit to him is understandable. She has so much responsibility. She just wants to let go of control for a few blissful moments. What was  _his_  excuse? He was the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. He was already in control. This wasn’t the role reversal it was for her. This was him scrambling for more control, more dominance. Exerting his will over a lover, a woman,  _a mage_.   
  
And that was just it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a powerless man getting his one chance to take charge. He was just a Templar taking advantage of a mage. It was easy to pretend that wasn’t what was going on when they were together. She would beg him—even when she wasn’t only doing it because he had demanded it—to toss her around. She had been the one to encourage more and more the use of his Templar abilities into their private life. But he had been the one to ask her not to use magic on him. He had been the one to take all the slack offered and give her none of her own. It makes him wonder if this all isn’t just him punishing her for something she had no hand in. Something that he tries to tell himself he’s over when she rests her head on his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms. He doesn’t hate mages. He swears he doesn’t.   
  
But he does love the rush of power he gets from issuing a command and watching her scramble to obey. He loves the way she feels when he’s got her mana drained and her voice silenced and her whole body is just his in every way, shape, and form. He assumes that’s why when he’s balls deep inside her and pounding away and she hasn’t pushed him to take the violent control that has become their sex life he does it for himself. He turns her over between thrusts, shoves her head to the mattress and lifts her ass in the air, and reenters her from behind. She screams approval—he’s learned the sound well enough not to question it for something else—and he hooks two fingers into her mouth. They had been inside her earlier and he orders her to suck them clean. Which she does. Enthusiastically. After they come they cuddle and he kisses her gently all over to hammer home the fact that he  _loves_  her. Maker, how he loves her. He would stop if she ever asked but she never asks and he supposes maybe she’s just as in love with the power play, the sick Tempalr/mage dynamic that is ripped straight from one of Cassandra’s dirty books, as he is.   
  
They don’t stop.

They start getting better at it.  
  
  
She introduces him to a game where he isn’t allowed to let her finish until he’s got her screaming his name. But they only play it after he’s cast Silence on her and until it wears off she can’t even whisper it if she wanted to. He’ll choke her too to keep the sound from escaping her and keep the pleasure cresting over her until sometimes she’s actually crying from it. He doesn’t let himself come until she’s come, of course, so the game is all kinds of levels of edginess and sheer drops into explosions of satisfaction Cullen had never even imagined. He asks where she learned something like that and she shrugs her shoulders and stifles a smile.   
  
“You have to think up things to pass the time in the Circle,” she answers and just hearing it somehow makes his cock ache all over again. Mages. Dirty fucking mages. He wishes the Templars had been so devious with each other. He rubs his thumbs over her shoulders, collar, and neck. Pushes and tries to lessen the dark bruising from his teeth. He feels like an animal. She makes him feel like an animal. He likes feeling like an animal.   
  
“Does no one comment on these?” He asks. She follows his fingers with her own as if clueless to what he might be talking about.  
  
“Dorian. But he knows what it’s about.” Cullen can only smirk. He wonders if the next time he plays chess with the man he’ll be greeted with teasing of a new sort.   
  
“I love you,” he reassures like he always feels he must. Or maybe he isn’t reassuring but just telling. Because he does love her. And she loves him. And life is good for a change.  
  
  
It isn’t always rough. Sometimes when they’re too tired from a first round or from Inquisition business things are slow, nearly soft. He’s still in control but it’s more implicit. His commands are rough whispers against her neck. His instructions delicate. He likes this too. Because he knows he’s in charge. Still. Even when it’s like this with they’re eyes half closed and their bodies already satisfied and full on each other. When they’re just picking each other over because the thought of not touching just seems obscene.   
  
She sucks him off and he twines his fingers into her hair, rubbing and tugging but not pulling or forcing. He moans. Tells her faster, slower, deeper, more. She listens, as always, eagerly and dutifully. She makes her own pleased noises around him, deriving pleasure just from the act of serving him. It makes his skin hot and tight just to think about. For a woman like her to enjoy doing things to bring him to satisfaction? His body bucks as he focuses his mind on their relationship, each thought punctuated by the sucking bob of her head on his cock.   
  
“Will you come in my mouth?” She asks, the look on her face saying she thinks she knows the answer already. She tugging him with her hand and keeping his orgasm building.   
  
“No,” he states with a rough, strained voice. The surprise in her eyebrows encourages him more than anything else he can think of. “Ride me.” She doesn’t question, doesn’t second guess. She climbs onto him and lowers herself down, sheathing him and releasing a happy whimper when she does. She does the work of rocking and bucking her hips against his, lifting herself slowly until she’s nearly off of him entirely before letting herself drop back down. “I’m going to fill you with my seed,” he groans. “I’m going to fuck you and fill you until you’re heavy with my child.” This isn’t dirty talk he realizes as he’s saying it. This is… real. Well, not that the things he says to her when he’s in a frenzy of heated pleasure aren’t real, but this is more. She moans as he speaks and nods her head, taking him in over and over. “Even when you’re with child I’ll fuck you. Suck on your tits. Come on your belly.” He grabs her hips as he starts to come, inside her just like he promised. “I want to fuck you knowing you’ve a child—“ and here he stutters as he feels her tightening with her own climax—“my child, Maker, mine.” She curls up on his body and he feels the overwhelming need to explain himself. “I know w haven’t ever talked… about anything like that but I, I mean, it’s—“ She kisses him through his stutters and shakes her head as if he’s being silly. When she falls asleep he comes to a realization. She loves him. She wants to be with him. She wants all the same things as him. It hits him hard and he wonders if he would seem so dominant and controlling to her if she could see him with happy tears in his eyes as a lifetime of self reproach lessens on his shoulders. He need not be ashamed with her.   
  
That means there are more things they can try.  
  
  
He does not often agree to spare with her. He worries in this scenario he might actually hurt her and there would be no pleasure to derive from it. But this time when she asks she bites her lip and leans on her staff in just the right way that all he can do is think: _which one of us is in charge here?_    
  
“Do try not to hurt him too much,” Dorian teases on his way to the tavern. “His only saving grace is that he’s pretty to look at.”   
  
“I’m just going to freeze his feet to the ground and then knock him over the head,” she laughs, her attention turned to her friend. Cullen frowns. His insides are hot from groin to chest. She’s toying with him on purpose, he decides. Just like how she used to push him to take control when they were having sex. Only now they’re in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by people. No one was paying them too much attention, he has to admit that. But the fact still remains. He can’t just throw her down in the dirt and take her. Not in broad daylight at any rate. Maybe later when it’s dark.   
  
“It’s not a good practice to say your strategy out loud,” he comments in the voice he generally reserves for when they’re alone. He watches her shoulders straighten, her smile turn tight with playful excitement.   
  
“I’m confident,” she explains. She brings her staff up and he feels the pull of cold in her. He takes a step forward, sword brandished and shield waiting, and presses on her with a Templar’s urgency. Before she can finish her spell he has countered it. He watches her eyes widen, color draining from all but her furiously blushing cheeks. She swallows as her arm wavers in its hold on her weapon. She gasps and trembles lightly. He knows her well enough to know the way she looks when trapped in a wave of passion. He smirks and closes the distance casually. He places a conciliatory hand onto her shoulder, feels her lean into it as her eyes flutter shut for a moment. “I yield,” she utters.   
  
“You planned it this way,” he accuses though he can’t ignore the fact that his pants are feeling tighter and just the proximity to her body has his blood rushing. He can’t clear his head of ideas of things to do to her, with her. She manages to smile through her lust.  
  
“Maybe.”

 

When he Silences her at the War Table he wonders if the games have gone too far. Leliana and Josephine don’t notice what he’s done. And really they’re only going over reports of geological caches they’re discovered. It’s a blissfully slow day and, well, there didn’t seem to any reason not to. He raises his eyebrows when she places a hand on her chest. Her nostrils flair as she struggles to catch her breath.   
  
“Is something wrong?” He asks because he knows she likes doing things like this with people around but unknowing. He’s proud of the evenness in his tone. Months ago he would have been a blushing, stuttering mess to even consider doing something like this. Now she has unlocked him in a way he didn’t realize was possible. The other advisors look over. She bites her lip and nods her head, gesturing that they should continue making their reports.   
  
The way she looks at him makes him half hard. It feels like nearly all his self-control not to grab her and screw her on the war table. He knows that he isn’t so free spirited now that he would actually do it. But his thoughts wander and his body is restless and when the meeting is over they practically race and tumble and strip straight to her room.   
  
  
“I love you,” he says later when they’re sitting in a bath together. He’s rubbing her foot and he watches as she smiles across from him.  
  
“You don’t need to say it after every rough go.” He blushes, feels himself begin to stammer out some reasonable excuse. She giggles and he quiets. “I love you too. Should I say it more often?” She is teasing him but he doesn’t care. He lays a kiss against the arch of her foot and smiles when she twists away from him due to being ticklish.   
  
“It couldn’t hurt.”


End file.
